Thursday, March 09, 2006

Table Seeks Dining Room

Have you recently broken up with, or dumped your long-term dining table? Perhaps you have never hooked up with a dining table before? Our matchmaker community has a database of single dining tables looking for partners.

At other online furniture stores you search between the lines of bland descriptions, seeking the hidden hints that will connect you to your perfect match. If you have you been searching for that perfect dining table without success, then Against The Grain can help you.

Showcase of Featured Members Profiles

  • Dead butlers seek new position in household.
  • Doctor of anatomy offers spare parts, for unsupported tables.
  • Experienced table seeks knives and forks for late night laying.
  • Hand carved legs make outstanding table.
  • New table, offers self delivery.
  • Old men looking for exciting position under table.
  • Retired footballers want to support current position at top of table.
  • Table legs take shape.
  • Table runs away from broken home.
  • Table seeks dining room, prepared to travel.
  • Table seeks happy home, needs walking twice a day.
  • Table seeks interesting position in open minded household.
  • Table seeks interesting position, can be flexible.
  • Table seeks tablecloth for intimate moments, check before replying.
  • Two gentlemen willing to make sizable contribution to keep table up.
  • Unemployed table with itchy legs seeks chairs to help scratch a living.
  • Unshaved table looking for similar, to share room and board.

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Spiritual Glitches

Saturday night. The dark and very cold streets of Cambridge. A slight flurry of snow, lit by the slim silver torch in the elderly lady’s trembling hand. We shivered. Above us was the unlikely statue of a small dog. The lady’s torch moved upward to highlight the silent stone creature on the roof of a building.

‘The master of this college, and his dog, were found dead in 1632. The master had hung himself, a sad disappointed man, but no-one knew why or how the dog had died. Perhaps a broken heart, we will never know.’

The elderly woman spoke quietly. She was a guide, and we were in the middle of a walking tour around the haunted old lanes and byways of Cambridge, seeking ghosts - or at least wanting to hear the tales that others had spun, illustrating their fears and experiences of the dark underworld.

‘Only last week, three Chinese students had refused to return to their room at the top of this very building, blaming the visions and intense coldness of the room. Scared by the fears inherent in such a building, or maybe the reality of sharing accommodation with unsettled spirits from the dark past.’

We looked up, and felt a coldness born of the night, and although we were well wrapped, it was a coldness that exceeded the previous experiences of the tour.

The group continued until presently, we arrived at a small shop. There were several dusty old books in the window. A spider’s web, untouched, stretched across one corner, and a sign hung over the shop painted red on white: ‘The Haunted Bookshop’.

The group of nervous people stopped, as the lady raised her hand, bringing one finger across her lips to ensure we listened carefully to her explanation.

‘This shop,’ she began, ‘benefits from a friendly ghost - a young woman, who appears on those stairs to the rear of the store.’ She shined her torch towards the back, and lit up a staircase that rose into the old building. The torch created shadows, and the banisters seemed to move as the beam crept upwards along the far wall.

‘I suppose they are lucky,’ she continued. ‘There are many malevolent spirits loose around this town.’

There was a loud cry! Then the sound of glass breaking! Most of the group jumped, and sure enough in the doorway of the pub opposite, some malevolent spirit had dropped his beer glass in a howl of disappointment, his mates just laughed.

Disturbed we moved on, arriving at another shop just a few hundred metres away.

‘Look, look in the window, just in the corner,’ the guide pointed with her torch again. There was a stone talisman, its hands encircle its screaming mouth. ‘This shop suffers with an unwelcome ghost, and only since the owners were advised to put the talisman in the window, has it ceased to appear.’

We all gathered around to peer at the left corner of the shop window, looking fearfully at the talisman, grateful for its power.

Tamara looked at Marcus, ‘I’m glad our shop is on the Internet. There are no ghosts in our online store.’

Marcus looked up at her, his face shrouded in shadows, his body silhouetted by the distant street light.

‘How do you know that?’ he asked through a grim smile. ‘How do you know the Internet itself is not some diabolical creation of the spirit world?’ He turned and walked away from her. Tamara ran after him, unwilling to be left on her own, outside the haunted shop.

‘You are talking bollocks, you are trying to scare me, stop it!’ Tamara was unusually forthright. She had only learnt that word a few short weeks ago.

‘Next time you blame our software company for the gremlins in the system, just stop and wonder who put them there? The unfortold glitches… the fantastic way things vanish over night… the work you know you saved and has disappeared… Think for one second longer - is it the software, or a spirit that pervades our system, wreaking havoc whenever possible?’

‘Shut up Marcus,’ she stared at his face. ‘You are talking absolute rubbish.’

‘Really my dear, is that so….’

He drew his scarf tighter, and pulled his long winter coat close, as he walked down the road away from her, and disappeared into the pub.

Marcus and Tamara